


Robinson Crusoe'd - FML

by oonaseckar



Category: Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Artificial Intelligence, Desert Island, Desert Island Fic, Gen, M/M, Robinson Crusoe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-01-31 06:32:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21441775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonaseckar/pseuds/oonaseckar
Summary: Bucky is stranded on a remote tropical island.  So far, so Robinson Crusoe.And it seems like life imitating art, when he becomes pretty damn sure that the island isn't as lonely and deserted as allthat.He isn't alone.  There'ssomeone elsehere.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Vision, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Icarus had initiative

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title from Marcus Wohlsen, 'Biopunk: Kitchen-Counter Scientists Hack the Software of Life'.

Bucky Barnes, ace U.S. Airforce test pilot, ladies' man, a smile to die for, style to cry for... Touched by the fickle finger of fortune, to be unusually blessed amongst men. Cheeky, gifted, one of the immortals.

Currently falling out of the sky, surrounded by burning chunks of fuselage from his 'lucky' bird.

Possibly not as immortal as all _that_.

And that was the last moment of consciousness, for Bucky. The last, prior to waking up on hot sand, surrounded by smoking chunks of airplane, mouth dry as dust. And hurting, everywhere.

_Everywhere_. But especially his arm.

Good thing Bucky had been through armed forces basic training, as well as more advanced survival courses. It helped him shut down his emotions, as well as concentrate on doing the things that needed to be done.

Not that he could help wondering just what Steve would have had to say, if he could see him now.


	2. call on me in the day of trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky: missing Steve, and possibly soon missing his arm. Maybe he should have done something about that earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe.

Well, in fact he knows _perfectly well_ what Steve would have said. "What did you expect, you big lunkhead?" That's it. "You volunteer to beta-test a ritzy new bird, without all of the kinks ironed out? And _then_ you take it off the route you're supposed to be flying, because, well, you can't resist a little adventure -- also known as, _you got a death wish or somethin', asshole?_ \-- and _now_ you're lost on a desert island, with your plane burning and in bits, and your arm feeling like it's fixin' to drop off? What, did you take all the stupid with you? When you got up out of bed, on your last leave? And never called me?"

Yeah, that's about what Steve would say. Possibly adding, ""What, and no sign of a beautiful local island maiden, with a coconut bra and a grass skirt, to welcome you? Barnes, you are losing your touch, buddy."

'Cause Steve really watches too many of those old, _'Road To Rio'_ -type Bob Hope black and white films, as well as any old Jimmy Stewart he can get his hands on. Amazon Prime has a lot to answer for.

Yeah, Bucky knows what Steve would say, like as if the big lug was right here with him. And a fat lot of good it does him. Since he _isn't_.

And this isn't a good time to be feeling at his chest, under the smoke-blackened tatters, wondering if he's having a heart attack. On account of how very sore it feels. No, this is, if anything ever was, a time for action.

"What would Steve do?" he mutters to himself. looking critically around at... Well, at flames, and smoke, a few mangy palm trees and the blank open sea, the empty horizon. "_WWSD_, even. Steve..." He allows the despair in, for a moment. It isn't much like him. "Steve. What the hell should I do, now?"

Christ, his arm hurts. He's dizzy, and abraded and bruised, and his arm hurts. He's been hesitant -- he's been _afraid_, be _honest_, Buck -- to take a real gander at it, before now.

He takes a look. Christ, it's not good. Technically, he's qualified in battlefield first aid -- and even if his certification hadn't run out, and even if the instructor hadn't been a pal who winked an eye at him turning up late and missing days, after some wild shore leave -- he wouldn't be equipped for _this_.

Edited highlights -- visible bone, splinters, something wrong with the socket that's much more drastic than a simple dislocation.

He gives himself a moment, to feel sick, to think about passing out. To think helplessly, of everything he would need to deal effectively with this. Clean dressings, sterilisation equipment, painkillers, anaesthetic, antibiotics, _qualified medical aid._.. Thinks about infection, about sepsis, and feels like he might pass out again.

Oh, and then he does.


End file.
